Warrior
by LadyMalys
Summary: Porthos and Aramis come across a damsel in distress, but in aiding her get far more than Porthos could have ever expected...
1. Chapter 1

I would never have believed that jumping from an upstairs window after being beaten half to death would have resulted in the best outcome. But it did.

I landed in a side alley and badly wrenched my ankle, which made me scream even as the monster from which I sought escape started yelling at me to get back into the house. Instead of listening to him I limped as fast as I could to the alley entrance, hoping to lose myself in the throngs of people. As I got to the street, the yells of my master echoing with promised violence, I was knocked down by two men and landed upon my ravaged back. My cry stopped them both in their tracks and the smaller of the two – the one with the pretty eyes and easy charm – rushed to help me up, giving what I could only guess were flowery apologies. However, whatever had got me back on my feet after my fall was drained away and I could not stand unsupported. His arm across my back almost had me weeping, but I was beyond both pain and fear.

My master had made the front step by now and was speaking rapidly in a language I did not understand, arguing with the taller man. Both were angry, but where my tormentor was shrill and loud, the other man's voice got quiet and low and more than a little menacing. I pressed against my supporter's side when I was pointed at and he shushed me, putting a hand on my arm and quelling my fears. He asked me a question but I didn't understand, so I shook my head. He tried again, and this time I caught a word I almost knew: "hurt". I nodded and replied in the language I had tried to learn in the few weeks I had been held on the boat. "Beaten" I replied, and he lifted his arm from my back to move my hair and inspect my skin. I already knew it was bad this time – I could feel the remnants of my tattered shirt stuck with my own blood. I heard him hiss softly before taking a firmer grip on my waist even as I became light-headed. Just before I passed out, I saw the tall man flick a small brassy coin at the still-arguing devil on the top step. Then all went black.

_Aramis caught the young woman as she sagged in his arm. "Porthos", he called "some help would be nice". The dark man turned, anger still evident upon his face, and caught her up into his arms. "Be careful of her back, my friend. I'll have to stitch her. She's been freshly beaten and it looks like that excuse for a human being didn't spare the whip." Porthos' face paled with rage and he made as if to turn back to where the weasely little coward had slammed the door. "Later, Porthos. First we must take care of her. Your rooms are nearest, we'll take her there and then decide what we shall do."_

It was pain that woke me; sharp and dragging, a slight tugging on my back flesh. I tried to move away but my arms and legs were made of lead. A hard and callused hand was laid on my shoulder to hold me still as the stabbing pain continued, and I managed to open my eyes.

I was laid on my stomach on a rough wooden table which smelt freshly scrubbed. The small part of the room which I could see was more functional than the rooms I had escaped. Instinct screamed at me to move, to get away from the pain but recent experience had taught me to stay still and get it over with faster. Tears ran from my eyes as my back burned and still I refused to make a sound. I heard the light voice of Pretty Eyes followed by the deeper rumble of the tall man. The man who now came into view and sat beside me, taking my hand in his large one and not even flinching when I dug my broken fingernails into the back of it as a particularly hard tug at my flesh caused a flash of agony to run through my body. He reached out slowly and gently ran the back of his fingers down my cheek just before I passed out again.

_She takes her stitches better than you, Porthos." Aramis joked as he bent over his work. The other looked up from where he sat, and scowled._

"_It's a classic slave reaction, Aramis: don't give the one hurting you reason to do it again, and harder." At the younger man's raised eyebrow, Porthos pointed to her ankles, visible below the ragged skirt. The fresh shackle scabs were almost black against her dark skin. "Not long off the boat, either. I'd say within the last two weeks."_

"_I'll wrap them to keep out infection, but she should stay off her feet as much as possible until those are more healed", the suave young man said. "Of course, I would not recommend she do much walking around anyway, seeing as she has no shoes and her clothing is shortly for the fire". The alarm was evident on Porthos' face at the realisation that he would be playing host to a grievously wounded, unconscious and above all soon-to-be-naked woman in his small apartments. Aramis gave him a grin. "I'll ensure that she is comfortable and you go and beg D'Artagnan's ladlady for her time and something suitable to wear. She is both adaptive and discrete – I doubt she would gossip about this matter". As Porthos left to fetch Mme Bonacieux, Aramis gathered the too-light form of the young woman into his arms._

I awoke once more, this time in a bed with soft pillows, proper sheets and a decidedly masculine scent. Not an unpleasant way to wake, but not my place to enjoy either. I slowly pushed myself to my knees and as the sheet fell away I realised that I was entirely naked. I wrapped the blanket from the end of the bed around myself, wincing as it hit my back, before looking around properly.

The bedchamber was as sparse and functional as the room I had been sewn in. Upon a wooden chair beside the fireplace were some clothes – the shirt in particular was of interest to me in my current state, so I slowly stood and crept to it, painfully pulling it on as my movements caused my stitches to tug. It hung to my knees and was thankfully soft and light against my skin. There was also a pair of black trousers but they were far too long for me and would never have stayed up on my emaciated frame.

I heard a door bang open and the deep rumbling voice of my tall rescuer followed shortly by the light tone of a woman. I panicked – surely I should not be in a man's bedchamber. I grabbed the blanket and wrapped it once more around my shoulders before scrambling to hide in the only place I could see.

_Constance Bonacieux swept up the stairs as Aramis directed her to Porthos' bedroom. She glared at the man until he realised that he was intended to wait with Porthos, who had thrown himself into a chair after pulling a bottle of wine and two glasses from a cupboard; he poured them both and downed his in one gulp before re-filling it. "Slow down, my friend. It is barely mid-afternoon and if you carry on at this pace you will be good for nothing but snoring by dinner"._

"_My mother had scarring like that over her back. I don't remember much about her, but that's burned into my memory. If I let myself think about what that poor girl's been through… You'd probably be arresting me for the murder of that squeaky little shit we saved her from."_

"_If you think you've rescued anyone, your celebration drinks are a little premature, M. Porthos. There's no-one up here" came Constance's voice from the top of the stairs. Aramis stared at Porthos in surprise._

"_She didn't get past me – I swear I was down here the whole time and I would have noticed if a naked woman had tried to leave." A moment more of looking at each other and they both ran for the stairs and burst through the doorway to the bedchamber. Aramis ran to the window, opening it to look out into the street. "I can't see her, she must be long gone." Porthos pinched the bridge of his nose at his friend's stupidity._

"_Or she has gone nowhere, Aramis. If she truly had escaped she would not have both shut and latched the window behind her," the dark man looked around. "My clean shirt is missing, so we can safely assume that she is at least wearing something, but she has awoken in pain and unfamiliar surroundings, so I would say that she is…here." Porthos lifted his bed away from the wall and extended his hand, encouraging the frightened woman hiding there to take it and helping her from the floor._

I should have known that I would be found – hiding had never worked before – and now I expected to be beaten again. So I was rather surprised when the tall man – dark-skinned (but not as dark as me), stern faced but with an encouragingly mirthful twinkle in his eye – carefully helped me up before sitting me back on the end of the bed he had so easily lifted. He gestured for the woman to come over and she appraised me with kindness before asking me a question. I looked at Pretty Eyes, now leaning against the fireplace, who spoke in the language that I almost understood, but this time it made no sense to me. He sighed and said something to the man who stood beside me; he glared back but before they could argue the woman chased them both out and sat beside me, taking my hand in hers. I couldn't help but smile at her kindness and no-nonsense attitude, which she returned. A few minutes later there was a knock at the door and the darker man returned carrying a bowl of hot water, which the woman took from him before pointing him out the room. I couldn't help but smile at his meek obedience.

She washed me clean of the filth and blood which crusted my skin, working with care over my wounds but scrubbing vigorously everywhere else. Three times she called for more water before she was satisfied, and that included once just for scrubbing through my hair with stinging soap. She dried me and sat me on the bed again whilst she decided on which clothes would fit me from the bundle she had brought with her. I picked up the shirt which she had stripped from me, but she shook her head and showed me where the dirt from my body had marked the white fabric in the mere minutes I had worn it. I must have looked rather crestfallen because she patted my hand and found a clean shirt for me from her own bundle which she helped me into. I refused the skirts she help out to me – I hated the stupid things because they hindered my movement and, quite honestly, I didn't know whether I would need to try and run again. She tutted, but found some trousers which were only slightly too big so she tucked in my shirt and wedged my feet and wrapped ankles into some high boots, pushing the excess length into them as well as that I did not trip. She took a comb to my wet hair and pulled and teased out all the tangles until it lay soft and springy against my neck; I felt almost normal again just for that. Then she nodded and took my hand, leading me downstairs.

"_Whoever would have thought that beneath all that grime she was quite pretty?" Aramis remarked as the young woman was seated at the table with them. Constance poured her a glass of water, removed the bottle of wine from Porthos' reach and reminded them to feed themselves and their new friend before leaving to oversee her own home. Porthos reached for his money pouch but she waved it away, muttering that they would no doubt make it up to her by involving her in some mad plan in the near future. Aramis left to get some food, returning twenty minutes later with three bowls of thick beef stew to an awkward silence. He set them down on the table whilst Porthos found some bread, and the woman grew more and more uncomfortable. Aramis noticed her fidgeting and asked what was wrong. In reply she pointed at Porthos' money pouch. "You want coin?" he queried and she shook her head before pointing to herself, then at the small leather bag and back to herself. He and Porthos looked confused before realisation spread over the younger man's face and he burst out laughing._

"_Care to share the joke with the rest of us?" Porthos grumbled as Aramis gasped for breath._

"_Oh Porthos my old friend, we did not rescue this pretty young thing from that man," he chuckled. His companion looked at him uncomprehendingly with his stew-laden spoon halfway to his lips. "She thinks that she should have been setting the table and fetching the food because you bought her."_

_Shock was evident on Porthos' face as his spoon fell back into his bowl with a clattering splash. "I did not! I threw barely a denier at the man because he wouldn't shut up about how much she had cost him…" Aramis simply chuckled and started to eat his own late lunch, tapping the bowl in front of the girl when he realised that she still hadn't started to eat._

The stew smelt amazing and I could scarcely believe that I had a full bowl of it – plus bread – to myself. When Pretty Eyes tapped it and broke the spell I snatched up my spoon and ate it as quickly as possible, gulping down the hot meal and tearing into the bread, stuffing as much as I could into my mouth before they decided to take it away. The dark man – the one who had bought me – was watching me with a very strange look on his face, and I was about to ask Pretty Eyes what was wrong when my shrunken stomach gave an almighty lurch in rebellion of the sudden rich food. I should have known this was going to happen, I should have eaten slower and allowed myself to adjust to the first food in almost three days.

But hindsight is a wonderful thing, and I hadn't done any of that. Instead, I did what came naturally in these circumstances.

I threw up in the fireplace.


	2. Chapter 2

The first week or so with my new master is still very hazy. I came down with a violent fever that first evening and it was thought that I would not see the dawn's light. I remember his large hands, so rough against my scalding skin, laying cool wet cloth on my brow. I was forced to drink water when all I wanted to do was sleep, despite suffering from a raging thirst which had made me beg for the drink in the first place. I learned later that whilst I was ill he took a leave of absence from his duties and refused to let a physician see to me, allowing only Pretty Eyes and the nice woman into his home. He got into trouble on my behalf and I wasn't able to appreciate his concern until much later. Thankfully, my fever broke before my body and I woke one morning to find myself in his bed with him slumped in a chair beside me. I reached out and touched his hand; he leapt awake and gave me such a look of relief that I felt guilty for becoming ill in the first place. He sat and supported me as I drank a few mouthfuls of water and then became my pillow when I promptly went back to sleep. When I awoke again, I was alone.

_Her back healed well and it was not long before Aramis decided that he needed to unpick his delicate needlework before her body could turn its attention to the sewing which held it together. That afternoon, as light streamed into bedchamber, he and Porthos plied the young woman with enough wine to dull the pain, and she leant into Porthos' arms, her head on his shoulder, whilst Aramis snipped threads and carefully teased them from her skin. She alternated between drunken giggling – the situation was not particularly amusing in Porthos' view – and quiet whimpering. When the last stitch had been removed they gave her water and bread to combat the alcohol and left her alone to recover with a measure of dignity. As Porthos turned to go, she reached out and squeezed his hand with a smile. Aramis noted the returned smile as well as the swift tightening of his fingers and discretely averted his eyes as he gathered his surgeon pack._

_When they were both sitting once more at Porthos' table Aamis asked whether there was anything going on, for which he received a glower. "That girl is my responsibility until she understands that I bought her freedom and not her service and I will take great offense if you are implying that I might take advantage". Aramis held up both palms in surrender._

"_I mean no offence, my friend. I understand why you are aiding her – the business with Bonnaire has reminded you of all that you wished forgotten and then a pretty young slave runs into us… Yes Porthos, I feel protective of her as well, and that is why I ask." They sat in contemplative silence for a few minutes until they heard quiet movements from the bedchamber above them. Aramis knocked back the drink before him and made to leave._

"_She will need to know our language if she is to understand that she is no longer an owned slave, Aramis, and her letters too. Would you teach her? You can at least get her to talk to you."_

"_I would be honoured. We shall start tomorrow", and with that the younger man bowed his farewell and left._

Days turned to weeks and Pretty Eyes (yes, I knew his name was Aramis but I felt the nickname better suited him) taught me his language. We established that I had grown up speaking my native tongue and Dutch, from the first plantation I had been sold too. I was transported back to Europe by the Spanish (though I did not tell him why) from where I had picked up a smattering of both violent promises and sailor curses, much to his amusement and knew nothing of French. The lessons were hard and often went late into the night. More than once I fell asleep at the table and master Porthos would carry me up to his bed before leaving to sleep downstairs. That also confused me – now that my back was healed well enough I should have been the one sleeping in the chair beside the fire. The bed made me uncomfortable, and I would often leave it to curl up in a blanket on the floor.

We had all learnt the lesson that my stomach could not handle rich fare and so my diet consisted of bread, fruit and broths and plenty of all three. Madam Constance would occasionally visit with pastries for me to try, and under the ministrations of my three friends my frame filled out and I blossomed to health once more. Still I refused to wear skirts, preferring shirts and trousers with high boots, and with my more womanly figure I fear that I somewhat scandalised poor Madam Constance whilst also amusing master Porthos. My ankles healed to new pink skin and between my lessons I did what little work I could around the rather sparse rooms, washed M Porthos' clothes and cleaned his boots each night. The only things he did not allow me to touch were the many weapons he kept. I think he was worried that I might hurt someone by accident.

_Porthos had been wracked with guilt when she started working in his apartments. It had started out with simple enough tasks such as fetching water from the nearest well, and laying fresh fires during the day but as her strength returned they expanded to washing and polishing and scrubbing the floors until they shone. He'd tried to stop her, to explain that she didn't have to work for him, but she had simply looked at him with her head cocked on one side before dazzling him with a wide grin and carrying on as if he hadn't spoken._

_It was Constance who came up with a way to assuage his shame. Every week Porthos gave the kind woman a living wage to hold for the young woman, to be kept until such a time as she understood her freedom and wanted to leave, or to support her if he did not return from a mission. Mm Bonacieux had agreed to watch over her in case of his non-return, to find her good employment and – preferably – continue the poor woman's education. It was a morbid contingency plan, but Porthos felt more at ease with it in place._

_One wet evening he came home from patrol to find Aramis and his pretty…houseguest…laughing. As he dripped on the floor and looked bemused, she hurried to his side and took his hat and cloak to hang by the small fire. "So Aramis, do you care to spread the jest?" The younger man waved his wine glass at him to sit and dry out, noting with a wry smile that his dark friend once more held a lingering gaze for the young woman setting an evening repast before him._

"_Our lovely friend here has skills we did not realise, Porthos. She came to find me as I was running late for our lessons. Not only does she have an astonishing courage to wander a rather large and intimidating city by herself, but she is an unrivalled tracker, having honed her abilities on"_

"_Chickens, sir," the young woman interjected, and Porthos nearly choked on his dinner. It was the first time he had heard her speak outside of her lessons and now, as then, her voice seemed to caress its way into her brain and run a delicate shiver down his spine. His minuscule reactions were once more noted by the quick-eyed Aramis (who was still unsure whether this sort of thing should be encouraged but was willing to see how it played out). "Chickens run around and get themselves into trouble, but you still have to get them all back to the coop by nightfall," the young woman went on to explain. "A man is simply an over-sized chicken." Aramis doubled over in mirth and slapped his thigh in delight whilst Porthos snorted into a bite of bread._

"_I've never heard a Musketeer compared to a chicken before without a duel challenge being issued immediately afterwards"._

Life continued in a more amiable environment after that. Master Porthos – it was going to take time for me to view the man who had freed me from slavery in any other way – seemed at greater ease with himself once he knew I understood that I was free. He questioned once, deep into his cups, why I had not left; thankfully he was already half asleep so I simply helped him to his bed and did not have to answer. How was I to explain to this man that although he did not own me in terms of money, he did own my life? My service was a poor repayment but the only way I had. When Mm Constance had handed me a purse of coins and told me they were my wages, I spent them on new bed linens, soft shirts and good food and wine for master Porthos. I kept only enough that my own appearance would not disgrace him.

It was shortly after the Chicken Conversation, as M. Aramis insisted on calling it, that I noticed a man following me when I was at the market for fresh bread one morning. Curious glances were common – I was a woman in men's clothing, after all – but this did not feel like idle curiosity and I admit that it scared me. I finished my business and hurried home, barring the door until master Porthos was due back from his patrol. I did not mention my experience to him, for he was tired and hot from wearing his armour in the rising warmth of the season, and I wished him to rest.

A week later, when the door was broken in and three men rushed at me, I really wished I had burdened him with my troubles.


	3. Chapter 3

_Athos and d'Artagnan were sparring in the garrison yard when the news of the progressing break-in was delivered by an out-of-breath neighbour. The older man sent the gasping boy to Treville's office – where Porthos and Aramis were giving their patrol report – before he and the young Gascon were running out of the gate. The lad staggered up the stairs and knocked quietly on the correct door, timidly poking his head in when his entry request was granted._

"_Excuse-moi Monseurs, but I am a neighbour of M. Porthos and his home is being broken into and there were sounds of a struggle as I ran here" the boy mumbled, over-awed by the presence of the mighty Captain of the Musketeers. Porthos paled, giving Aramis a stricken look before bolting out of the door and leaping down the wooden stairs. Aramis turned back to their commander, looking worried and torn himself._

"_Captain, Porthos did not mean any disrespect. If you would kindly allow me to explain…"_

I was sweeping the floor beside the fire when the door was first struck by something heavy, and I heard splintering around the lock. I cast about for a weapon, gripping my broom tightly before me like a stave. The door burst in on the fourth blow, and three men piled into the room with cudgels and ropes. I knew at that moment that this was not a robbery, but a kidnapping and I would prefer to die than be re-enslaved.

The table and chairs in the middle of the small room aided me – it broke their charge and forced them to come at me one at a time. The first took a resounding crack on the ribs from my broom handle and he fell into the second man behind him, wheezing and cursing, whilst I turned my attention to the third who had now rounded the far end of the table to come at me from the other side. I swung the broom up and blocked his overhead strike – the blow meant for my skull instead broke my handle in two. My counter-strike caught him across the temple and he hit the floor with a clatter. One down… I dropped the length of broom with the brush-head on it and snatched up a fire iron from the hearth.

_Porthos arrived at his rooms to find Athos sitting in the mud with a handkerchief to his face, whilst d'Artagnan struggled to hold the splintered door closed. "You appear to have a crazed woman in your apartments, Porthos" said Athos thickly. When he lowered the handkerchief, Porthos saw blood streaming from a cut on the bridge of his nose, and his eye was already starting to swell and bruise. "A crazed woman who can make a most formidable weapon from a thankfully empty chamber pot". A loud thud against the broken door nearly caused d'Artagnan to stumble, and Porthos needed to get into his house. He bodily barged the young man out of the way – knocking him into the mud as he fell over Athos – and he pushed the door open with a growl._

_His combat-trained reactions saved him from impalement on his own toasting fork as it flew past his ear and buried its wicked-sharp tines into the doorframe._

Three men lay bleeding on the floor and at least two others were sheltered behind the door when it was pushed open again. I had already let the toasting fork fly before I realised that it was master Porthos, and my scream of fear turned to a cry of relief when he ducked his head and avoided a very nasty wound by my hand. I ran across the room and threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my head to his chest. He smelt of warmth, horses and leather. His own arms held me tightly and I felt kiss the top of my head. "Are you unhurt?" he murmured, and I nodded. The blows which had struck true were of little consequence now that master Porthos held me safe again.

"So just how long were you planning on keeping your woman secret from us, Porthos?" came a cool voice from behind his shoulder, and I tensed against the encircled arms which had suddenly changed from safe to a tightening snare and oh! how I hated the owner of that calm and haughty voice. A voice with the same quality of disdain as that of the plantation overseer, and I felt a panic start to rise in my chest. A panic which I had thought behind me in the glint of a thrown denier. Master Porthos felt it, for his hand soothed down my back and he breathed a "shhh" into my hair before slowly releasing me and stepping back, giving me room to breathe. I turned to the table and busied myself with collecting the chairs. I would need master Porthos' help with the heavy table, which had been turned on its side in the struggle.

The young man who had so bravely held the door closed against a lone woman was staring into the room from behind Overseer's shoulder. "So if she wasn't the burglar, where is the man who broke in?" I gave him a somewhat disdainful look – why did he assume that I only had the one attacker? Both M. Porthos and Overseer also looked around, and I gave a quiet sigh before walking to the far side of the table and dragging a man out by his ankles. I had had enough time between their subdual and the two new men's arrival to bind their wrists with their own ropes. Boy approached and hauled the barely conscious thug upright, pulling his limp form from the room and into the street. Overseer was turned to master Porthos to ask more questions (as if I was not even in the room) and I rolled my eyes at his back, sticking out my tongue – which nearly caused M. Porthos to laugh aloud – and went back behind the shielding table for the second man.

Overseer was repeating a question when I dropped my attackers ankles with a loud thunk right behind him. Turning, his eyes widened at the sight of a second unconscious man laid out upon the floor. The third followed as their jaws dropped in disbelief and Overseer called out "d'Artagnan", and the Boy re-entered. All three men looked utterly incredulous and absolutely comical. I gave them a bright smile (a smile which concealed my shaking hands and wildly beating heart) and sat on one of the righted chairs near to them, rather more heavily than I had intended.

At this point, Pretty Eyes ran through the door, and the suddenness of his entrance brought me back to my feet and reaching for my broom handle. M. Porthos also reacted, placing himself between me and the door, backing up until I was nearly held between his back and the wall. I placed my hand on his arm, and when he realised there was no danger he covered my hand with his own before turning and bidding me sit once more. His fingers tightened their grip on mine, however, when an older man – a grizzled and battle-scarred wolf of a fighter – casually strolled into the house and calmly asked "Well, what happened here?"

_Porthos paced up and down the street, never straying further than a few steps from his own door, glaring at the closed portal which denied him. Aramis – damn his coolness – had brought out a chair and even now had his hat tipped over his face, looking at all but those who knew him best like he was taking advantage of the late afternoon sun to take a quick nap._

_Their Captain had thrown them – him! – out of his apartments and was interviewing her alone. Porthos was a nervous mix of anger and anxiety, and so he strode a groove into the mud and cobbled street. Athos and d'Artagnan had dragged the three men away for questioning at the Barracks (and if Porthos had his way, it would involve a lot of pain). He turned and glared harder at the wooden door. Treville be damned, he was fed up with this! "I'm going to make sure she's alright" and he reached for the latch. Aramis' hand shot out and grasped his wrist._

"_Patience, brother. The Captain is about to complete his questioning." Aramis pushed his head to the back of his head and scratched his cheek. "Whilst you have been stampeding up and down like a Spanish bull, I have been listening in. You'll be pleased to know that our young friend has nothing but glowing recommendations for you"._

_Porthos leapt backwards and Aramis quickly stood as the door was wrenched open and their Captain swept out. He turned back into the room, gave a quick bow and a gruff "Think about it and let me know" and was gone. Aramis gave Porthos a knowing look, gave him a shove towards the now open door and walked after the superior officer._

I was righting the room when master Portos walked in, pulling his hat from his head and dragging his chair back in behind him. I left my task and let myself be enveloped in his arms, his hug soothing my jangled nerves and calming my racing mind. I pressed against him, his leather armour digging into my arms and cheek as I strained to link my fingers behind him. One large hand rested at the back of my neck, his thumb rubbing the skin there, and the other lay across my waist to grip my hip. I had never felt so safe, and I vowed that I would never let this gruff, caring man down again. "I'm sorry, this is all my fault". I felt his lips against my hair, and he gave a rumbling snort of laughter.

"Don't be foolish. This isn't your fault. And anyway, you dealt with it pretty well." He grasped my shoulders and held me back at arm's length. "Now what did the glorious Captain Treville have to say that needed me to be thrown from my own rooms?"

I looked at the floor, suddenly bashful under his intense gaze. "He offered me a job".


End file.
